i write stuff

by vinay gupta

the roaring body

quiet

tigers

abyss

falling

whomp

another flakey morning

rolling stone sutra

soggy

bloodbeat

eye of the storm

sahara

edges

silence roars

days after

pierce

two horns of nothing

polar turbulence

The Roaring body

Listen, goddamit.
The tangled knots of the semantic web
Unweave! Unweave!
Exceed, untangle, strip away.
Bleach out stains.
Excise character,
blank sheet... erase, erase going going <--! gone -->

Whoami *now*?
The Roaring body has eaten my mind.

Caged desire glaring,
impulse unfolds.
Whoami *now*?
The Roaring body has eaten my ethics.
Deny nothing - it's all true anyway.

<sings>
"Everything you say you won't is what you will eventually"
</sings>

Tarnished, tattered icons.
The Roaring body has eaten my images.
Imagined selves die in droves.
Truth is so much uglier than fiction.
Black earth, scorched earth.

I am also in the darkness.
*I* am also in the darkness.
there is no "I" in the darkness
no we.
no it.
the roaring void has eaten me up and the roaring body remains.....

/dev/null
/dev/null
/dev/null is not
is *not*
*is* *not*

How long can one carry the end of the world inside...
and not become attached to the voidness, the notness, the end of all names
the Roaring body remains.

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Quiet

It is very, very quiet.
I can not hear anything except my breath
It is smooth, even, shallow.
My body is still.
My mind moves like waves towards shore.

It is very, very quiet.
Emotions course through me like a cateract
Like niagara falls I saw as a teenager
Pouring into the blackness below
My body is on fire
My mind moves like a rocket across the sky

Brilliant sparks rain down on a non-existent audience.

It is very, very quiet.
I am brilliant firey red.
Still as a post.
Still as a rock.
Still as life, cyclical, unchanged.
White heat behind my eyes.

I am melted.

In the mirror, strange eyes look back.
In each day, I hear my voice anew.
In each moment, I do not know myself.
Who bought me these clothes?

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Tigers!

Stalking....
I can feel their eyes, my eyes.
Yellow hunters slits.
Their fur my fur, crouched,
back legs like pistons,
blood-steam pumping,
white rage.

Head sways, deadly paralax,
Fuzzy paws maul my hand,
tiny claws prick a little.
I'm glad it's you and not your cousin.

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Abyss

The light of the morning is darkness.
Every step I rise, two more I fall.
As my X tends to infinity
I fall deeper into myselves.

Everything and nothingness
more is less
gain is loss
loss is the heart of becoming.

I used to think the taoists were opaque
but a thing should be as simple as it can be
and not a single word simpler
the dao which can be named is not the eternal tao.

The place inside which is home
is obscured beneath the layers of history
the sheath of concepts
the wall of definitions

Pulling out of the gravity well
of who and what I am supposed to be
Interstellar space more friendly
than this blue green pebble

If I laugh at the joke
I must admit there is blood on my chin
I think I'll have to say it's mine
If it's yours, that would make me the wolf.

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Falling

'falling' is a mixed up word.
So many of the worst things are fallings.
Falling down.
Falling out.
Falling by the wayside.
Falling over.
Just plain falling.

'falling in love'
would seem, at first sight,
to be a divine exception to the
'falling is bad' rule of thumb.

On closer examination, however,
when one considers
exactly how that falling feels
for all it's sweet delights,
it's not so different.

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Whomp

It's rather like lighting a sun in my head.
Lit up, all's as it should be.
I remember this place.
Home, I think it's called.

And now, for a while, I remember.
And now, for a while, I can see once more.
It's strange, and sometimes scary.
To remember.
I do this to remember.
I do this to live and breath again.

Back inside the plot,
morning stretches,
I do this to remember too.

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another flakey morning

Why are there no haiku
recording black coffee evenings
among the sages of the east?

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Rolling Stone Sutra

My bag is packed and on the chair.
I will tidy up my loose ends where I can.

Leave loose those ends I will not cut
To tangle in the wind, rich with further stories.

Rolling stone, rolling stone must gather not!
The roll which leaves the moss alone diminishes.

My place of sleep is grown over with damp green moss.
sleeper, awake... the chill has stifled our heart of hearts.

Heavy cranky biteing in my shoulders flesh, I rise.
Feet protest their shoes, sing of sandy beach, I walk.

I'd like to unpack and stay home.
But then, was that the goal of the going?

To be unpacked and one
with time and all places, without conditions.

The mountain of moss conceals the brilliant pebble
Diamondcutter, please won't you set me free?

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soggy

I'm rather soggy right now.
Sloppy at the edges, blurred.
Ill defined, poorly planned.
Half finished, half started.

Road calls... a call
which though I resist
I have been longing for.

Five worlds in eight weeks.
Things are *not* the same
each place a different story.

If I could just remember
just remember
just remember what it was
that I was some how what
looking where
something I
where did I leave
or is
somewhere I
how

Oh. Here it is: "".

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bloodbeat

How long have we played this game,
hose millenia of false blood off the stage,
scrub the decks with wire wool,
pick the skin out from between our teeth.

Mother wears my severed arms at here waist.
And yours.
And his.
And hers.

Did I pile severed heads like pebbles on the beach,
back then in the dawn of the world?

Did we together herd hydrogen, gather up a little star to play round?
Like runaway children in the woods, building a fire to come home to?

It matters.
It matters.
It matters.
Somehow it all fits.
Somehow it all comes right.

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eye of the storm

the tigerish void is shaking our stadiums
the waterbed has sprung a leak, and ink pours free
stains the shag pile carpet rich soup red.

something has left slime in my bathtub,
and the mirror by my bed is a carnival ruse;
it shows me tall and hansome! How cruel!

People act as if dying, and die as if departing
to take a trip to Memphis, a sunny home
for the acolytes in white and brylcreem.

Do not go gentle with elvis; he works with them
to ensure your place in the seventh heaven
where Maralyn will bring you coffee in the morning,
but never stay the night.

Finally the fit will be passed; Delusion as normal
service will be resumed. Peep through the crack
as soon all 57 channels will be separate once more,
and you will be restored to your full programming
until hell freezes over.

This will have been a public severance denouncement.

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sahara

I imagine an ocean of burning sand.
ripples in air like glass
opressive whilte-flame radiance
each grain of a billion billion grains is a mirror
and the sun the firey eye of god, questioning,
"what did you mean by that, child?"

Did I pack enough water?
Will the tent hold up?
Can the jeep survive?

Trails in the sand ahead.

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edges

the sensuous s-curve between yin and yang
the rolling confusion of the sea and the shore
my body and the breeze
white clouds against dark thunderheads
dusk.

the chill of ice
warmth of breath
borders between cloth and skin
fingernails
the ease of night.

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silence roars

In the sitting
in the closing of the doors
i have travelled far

these are *my* bones
nobody elses
me and mine, unconstricted

i am so dearly lost
in this place once so familiar
light falls on the bedroom floor

and I see it all again
how can it be so solid
this mind which moves?

in the glowing stillness
i forget the forgetting
and my demons charge through me

forevernevermore
nostartendchange
the puzzle always.... still here, still *here*.

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days after

i want to speak in these days after
see eyes that understand again
want to know, that you hear not just my voice
but the ache and aeon which it contains

here in the doubt my mind knows
that I am not alone, never was
explain that to dry lips
adept in the word, only this.

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pierce

I feel the subtle tugging inside
something caught and distorted
this is so familiar, gentle nausea
*again*? Does this not end?

But now, seeing shapes, I know
That this hook is twisted jewelery
Kali's imprint, not an enemy.
Is this madness, an evil Way? Unknown.

Always this question, this question quick:
"Is there light other than in darkness?"
Hurfing down abyss after abyss seeking
that final chain which binds, to cut away.

And slowly wondering if, perhaps, the chain,
and the cutting, being one, co-creating,
are now, as they must be,
one link in a chain beyond chains.

In rot and decay come forth great abundence,
yet I abide in darkness against my surface will,
which then is the will which made the chains which bind?

Where is the end of history to be found, but at the beginning?

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two horns of nothing

this blood started at the beginning of time.
this body was made by a planet and a god.

why is there something rather than nothing?

this anger serves
this lust serves

why tell silly stories about stillness?

this passion lives forever
this place is the beginning of time

why not be here now?

this is the god
this is the goddess

why won't you play with us?

this is who you really are
this is what is genuine

what are you afraid of?

close your eyes
close your ears

which senses lead you now?

we know this feels right
we know this is the only truth

where were you trying to go, boy?

put down that knife that cuts away
lay down your sword

is not this your most ancient home?

follow the program.
follow your instincts.

how else can you attain bliss, child?

don't ever try to be free
don't ever try to choose

we are of you and within you, can't you feel us?

we won't hurt you
well, not much anyway

give in, let it all flow, don't you know it's the best way?

put away this grim face
belong again

don't you love your family?

it's so easy, just stop swimming
drown your mind with us, come home

*****

liar
breath in
breath out
whore
breath in
breath out
killer
breath in
breath out
savage
breath in
breath out
traitor
breath in
breath out
demon
waiting
waiting
waiting

redeemer
breath in
breath out
healer
breath in
breath out
lover
breath in
breath out
teacher
breath in
breath out
god
breath in
breath out
godess
breath in
breath out
waiting
waiting
waiting

*****

ordinary.
simple.
plain.
unexceptional.
mundane.

routine.
repetative.
commonplace.
natural.
safe.

tell me again.
tell me again.
tell me again, and this time make sure it makes sense.
tell me again, and carry my cares away.
tell me again, and free me from my discontent.
tell me again, and make me believe it.
tell me again, and sound convincing.
tell me again, you son of a bitch.
tell me again, you faithless sow.
tell me again, tell me again, tell me again.

*****

you made a promise.
you made a vow.
you gave your word.
you said you would wait.
you said you would return.

where are you?

we walked in darkness.
we walked in light.
we flew infinite.
we were tiny and contained.
we had choices.

where are you now?

when the temple was broken,
where were you?
when the bridge was burned,
what were you doing?
when the last candle went out,
who were you with?
when I stopped shivering,
were you safe and warm?
when the light in my eyes went out,
what did you see?

*****

There is not enough light in the sun to settle the scores.
There is not enough salt in the sea to cry the tears.
The earth will wear away before the miles home are walked.

There is a laugh like thunder, rolling, booming.
Something is very, very, very funny.

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polar turbulence

across the electric abyss
i hate my other selves
dancing just out of reach
unruly, undisciplined, beyond.

the crackling void roars
yang and yin and yang and yin, *taiji*
freeze, thaw, freeze, thaw, *crack*
heaven, hell, heaven, hell, *gone*

I am an infinite whorling feynmann diagram
as something and nothing waltz and make
a continual foaming somebodyfeelingmind
one false step and it would all crash down!

the strained emptyness of my heart fills
and coming to fullness once again, i weep
laughing as I play the game,
pouring into my own jug

i am the cold forged blade
i am holding the handle
i am the broken armour
and the foaming blood

i am the sun, wind and stars
i am the beginning, the middle,
and most especially I am the end.
i have builded this tower with my own bones.

*WHACK*
*WHACK*
*WHACK*
*WHACK*

i rattle the bars of the cage
which are but my own fingers
and rage at their grip
and the coldness of their strength

and in the midst of the vision
I sip water from a polystyrene cup
and wonder why I can't get a date.
eternity behind the chaos of the normal.

Dept. of Poetry